Brian Potter           
 
 
 
Poems 2
Tuna Fish Sandwich

On her Crimson lips
I could discern, with taste
a hint of white tuna
that once swam with ships

and 2 slices of 7 grain bread
which flanked this nevermore albacore
whose heart stopped thumping
minced up and dead

from these subtle clues
to the tunas untimely demise
the homicidal fishers
I never knew

betweem kiss and kiss I continued
to lick her lips
to sample her lipstick for contrast
and to bury the fish
while I squeezed her hips

  Blue Denim Jeans

Against skies of blue
in a wood and rock nest
I grew and grew
to be six foot two

The physicians did agree
that my health was hale
with a hammer to my knee
and a green family tree

I could run real quick
whether near or far
was fairly, rarely sick
with a seven inch dick

I rocked at most sports
with my long, lean legs
that stretched past my jorts
or my nylon shorts

and my chest sprouted hair
when it grew beyond my sides
and I saw some girls stare
at my derriere

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